Of Dragon's Tales and Drabbles
by IsisAthena
Summary: My collection of drabbles, ranging from hurt/comfort to humor- anything, really. Some will be connected, others not. Requests welcome. Rated T just in case. Most will probably be prompts from the Heart of Camelot site. Marked complete because, technically, it's a bunch of finished stories.
1. Dante's Prayer

**So this is a challenge I wrote for a prompt over at the Heart of Camelot. It was based on the song "Dante's Prayer."**

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><p>He gazed at the stars above him, reflected in the waves lapping at his feet. Of all of the things he had seen, they were unchanging and constant. The same patterns, the same glittering points of light that had inspired so many. He hummed a soft tune, one that his mother had sang to him when he was still that innocent, careless boy from a tiny peasant village.<p>

_Cast your eyes on the ocean, cast your soul to the sea…._

He kicked a rock into the water, vaguely wondering when he'd become so jaded and unemotional. Probably when he realized that no matter what he did, the world and its people would never stop repeating history. Trying to destroy each other. Arthur had always called him a girl. He flinched at the mention of his destiny. The king he would serve for as long as it took. He wished had never started to remember that little melody; it brought back unwanted memories from long ago. Memories that he had buried deep to try to ease the pain of losing everything and everyone close to him.

_When the dark night seems endless…_

A millennium and a half after the fall of Camelot, his emotional dam broke. He cried out in the deepest of anguish, and his magic; his very soul lashed out. He collapsed to the ground, sobbing and heartbroken. As the warlock laid there, broken by time, Fate decided to take pity upon the man that had been a faithful servant to her sister Destiny. The waves started to crash on the shore more violently, and a figure who gleamed in the moonlight stepped dripping from the lake.

_Please remember me…_

When dawn came, the local townspeople discovered the two sets of wet footprints on the sand.

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><p><strong>I hope to update every few days or so.<strong>

**EDIT: I removed the 6 drabble story arc and turned it into a one shot.**


	2. Don't Fear the Reaper

**Written for another prompt. Based on the song "Don't Fear the Reaper."  
><strong>

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><p>The Queen of Camelot could feel her time was nearly up. The combination of sickness and old age had taken the last of her failing strength. Even Merlin's magic could only do so much. But she was happy with her accomplishments. After Arthur's death, she had ruled the kingdom through famines, wars, and crises alike, with Merlin at her side as Camelot's Court Warlock.<p>

_ And it was clear she couldn't go on…_

Ever the faithful friend, he had done whatever he could for her. She was forced to order him to stop trying to find a miracle cure after he collapsed from exhaustion. The warlock sat at her side now, holding her frail hand in his eternally youthful one. A slight summer breeze blew through the open windows and fluttered the curtains. A few of the candles lit to stave off the coming gloom of night flickered and died. The wind picked up slightly, and the faint form of her long-dead husband appeared behind Merlin.

"_Guinevere._"

The slight whisper grew louder as the ghost became clearer. She felt her friend calling her, trying to tie her to the mortal world for just a few moments longer, but she followed the king's voice. "Gwen? Gwen!"

_And she ran to him…_

As Merlin's words faded away into the distance, the rising moon became brighter; the world more beautiful. She stepped from the bed with a grace she had not felt in years, leaving her body behind. The Queen looked behind at her friend with sorrow and pity, but didn't stop moving forward. Gwen walked towards her king's hand, towards her father and brother, towards her dead friends, and to Avalon.

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><p><strong>Thoughts?<strong>


	3. Behind Blue Eyes

**And yet another prompt from the Heart of Camelot. Prompt was "Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who.**

**A/N: Morgana's pov.**

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><p>She smirked, a signature expression of hers. She turned from her men, and studied the sieged castle. The same castle she had lived in for years. The same castle drenched with the blood of thousands, both innocent and guilty alike. The same castle that was built on lies. A flicker of guilt flared in her soul, but she quashed the feeling with practiced ease. Camelot would be open to anyone- magical or not- when she was Queen. Arthur would die, or be exiled if she was feeling generous. Same as Gwen. As an added bonus, she could make Merlin suffer before he was executed. The backstabber, the coward that poisoned her, even if it was on the orders of a dragon. Oh, she had stalked him as he walked through the forest alone, waiting for the right time to ambush him. As he entered a large clearing, she had prepared to strike, but a guttural roar from his throat had startled her. Morgause had told her that the Dragonlords had died out with the death of Balinor. The Great Dragon had landed before she recovered, and her eavesdropping on the following conversation had revealed many things.<p>

She shook her head. Tonight wasn't a night for distractions and memories. It was a night for victory and triumph. Even if she had to steal her throne by force, she would make a much better ruler than any other Pendragon. The people would see her way of doing things and come around to her side eventually.

After all, they don't know what's like to be the enemy of everyone that you once cared for.

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><p><strong>No idea when the next one will be up. Hopefully this weekend. And a sincere thanks to dragooonthegreat, wolfnymph1, and a guest for reviewing.<strong>


	4. Stairway to Heaven

**...I have no idea where this idea came from. At all. Seriously.**

**Prompt was "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin.**

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><p>The witch and the warlock stood back, both battered and exhausted. The current match was only one battle of many in the long war.<p>

_And as we wind on down the road…_

They were both too evenly matched for a clear winner. They were too similar. She was the dark to his light, prophecy foretold, and he, her bane. Shadowed, knowing eyes; both pairs showed the blackness of past events and buried secrets. Of having to hide in plain sight and caring for those who might turn on you in a heartbeat if the truth was known.

_Our shadows taller than our souls…_

As the lull in the fight stretched on, both remained silent. Everything that had needed to be said had. Insults, jeers, and jabs would do nothing, not when each had hurt the other so greatly without the help of words. If destiny had been different, what could been? Two such similar souls, with the great misfortune of being forced to opposite sides. Fated for one to lead to the end of the other.

Both witch and warlock opened their mouths to speak at the same time. Morgana began quietly, hesitantly. "…Merlin, I-." The whispered sentence was interrupted by the nearby clashing of swords, and the yelling of men fighting for their lives. The brief moment that could have been so much more was shattered, and their magical fight resumed with greater intensity.

As Morgana flung a raging inferno at him, Merlin ducked out of the way with a muttered oath and shielding spell. Both knew that their current stalemate would have to end one way or another, that fate could not be held off forever. But, by the gods, they could try.

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><p><strong>Yeah. My first really rabid plot bunny. I don't even ship Mergana!(if you look at it from that perspective)<strong>

**It's also 2-3ish in the morning right now, so I probably didn't edit very well, either. Feel free to point out mistakes.**

**I also think that I won't post any happy/humorous drabbles anytime soon the way I'm going. Just as a warning... :)**


	5. Colorblind

**"Colorblind" by Counting Crows.**

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><p>Everyone noticed a change in the servant. His characteristic humor and bright grin had faded away over time, like a summer sun swallowed by approaching storm clouds. The insults he aimed at the king faltered and disappeared, along with the cheer he brought to people.<p>

His world was made of shades of gray- broken only by the warm light of his friends, and the deepest black of his lies and secrets.

_ I am colorblind…_

The huge secret hanging over his head had finally taken its toll on him. How could he act happy and content around people, when he had to hide his true self from them? His mask had fallen away. It had, for once, been noticed.

He had to tell someone; do something, or the pressure would crush him completely. Arthur told him in his usual prattish way that he was concerned. But was it time? Was Arthur ready to know that his loyal friend hid, in the king's mind, his evil magic? Even if he accepted the magic, was he ready to know about all that Merlin did for the kingdom? Would Merlin even be able to tell Arthur?

_ I am taffy stuck and tongue tied…_

The warlock paced back and forth in his tiny room, turning the problem over and over again.

_ I am ready…_

A figure strode from the king's chambers much, much later. An impressive bruise spread across his jaw, not even dimming the blinding grin on his face. As he reached the physician's door, he paused, noticing something different about his surroundings. Both the world around him and the future seemed so much brighter. More colorful.

_ I am… fine._

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><p><strong>Scratch the updating regularly.<strong>


	6. Rolling in the Deep

**Warning: One swear word in the song lyrics.**

**Mordred's pov, set near the end of 5x11, Drawing of the Dark, where he goes to Morgana. **

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><p>Mordred could see it now. How foolish he himself had been, to believe in an ancient prophecy. To believe in a city where his kind were killed. Emrys was no savior. <em>Emrys<em> was a traitor to magic itself. The fated warlock was but a liar and fool lucky enough to be born with powerful magic. They all decided to condemn Kara, like hundreds of other innocents. A druid, his love, who was only trying to fight for her freedom. No amount of pleading had stopped the warlock from sending the king and his knights after they had escaped. His loyalty to the crown hadn't been enough to prevent her execution. And the act had finally opened his eyes to Camelot's and the warlock's true nature.

_Go ahead and sell me out, and I'll lay your shit bare…_

Leaves rustled and branches snapped in his wake. The former knight made no move to cover his tracks or any attempt at stealth. He stopped near the edge of a cliff overlooking a canyon and a hulking, dark gray fortress of stone.

The druid breathed in and exhaled, the tiniest feeling of guilt buried by his need for revenge. Kara didn't have to die, and wouldn't have if it hadn't been for the knights, the king, and most of all, Emrys. And if Emrys and the king he had pledged his loyalty to wished to hurt him so much, then he could also play that game. Merlin's secret could bring the kingdom to its knees. And it would, in Morgana's hands. Camelot, the city of beauty and blood alike would fall with his knowledge.

_ You had my heart and soul in your hand_

_ But you played it, you played it, you played it to the beat…_


	7. Loyalty and Immortality

**Non-prompt drabble. A HUGE thank you to LadyHeatherlly for looking it over for me. I'll probably also come up with a better title than the one I have now.**

**Leon's pov.**

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><p>Standing high on a precipice of rock, Leon gazed out over the starlit plain.<p>

Although the area looked peaceful enough, the smell of ash and death was still in the wind, nearly a week after the last throes of battle.

He was a knight, a warrior, trained for fighting since he was able to hold a sword in small hands. As a boy, he'd dreamed every night about the glory he'd gain as a knight and the honors he'd earn, tournaments that he'd win. But a boyhood dream was nothing compared to the reality. Horses and men alike screaming in fear, pain, and rage, swinging weapons wildly for survival, glory near the last thing on any man's mind.

And the recent battle had been one of the worst. Countless men had fallen on both sides, and the knight had lost some of his closest friends. Both Percival and Gwaine had fallen at the Saxons' hands, and his king was dead. Even Leon himself hadn't come out unscathed, as the pain from a pulled wound reminded him.

But there would be time for his grief and sorrow later. For now, there were men to lead and supplies to gather, a queen to console, and other battles to fight. Yes, there were far more important things to worry about than his troubled emotions.

And so as the first rays of dawn rose over the great plain of Camlann, the sunlight touched a bare cliff with a gleaming sword driven into the ground- the lone figure who'd stood there the night before was already long gone.

Sir Leon the loyal and immortal, indeed.


	8. Delicate

**Word prompt: Delicate**

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><p>Gwen listened to the awkward silence between Arthur and Merlin as they walked through the fresh snow in the courtyard with her.<p>

When another nameless sorcerer had appeared at the recent feast, throwing the guards off to the side and flinging the doors of the hall open, freezing the rising knights in place and magically propelling a dagger at her husband, she had feared that this time the assassin would be successful. She had despaired as the knife had spun end over end, travelling straight towards the king, only to stop a hair-breadth away, the razor point pricking a small hole in the fine clothes he wore. The magic-user had paused in his long-winded speech about how the last Pendragon tyrant would die, and ran rather ungracefully from the hall as Merlin stepped forward, a conflicted expression on his face as his eyes glowed a tell-tale amber.

They had accepted him, but the weight of Merlin's lies had strained almost all of his friendships.

An idea came to mind, one that might just force the two stubborn _idiots_ to fix their currently delicate relationship. She bent down slightly, and as they turned to see why she stopped, she threw her hastily-made snowball at Merlin. The packed snow exploded on his shoulder.

The look on Merlin's face was so shocked and startled, she couldn't help but start to giggle. As his lips turned upwards a tiny bit, he shot a cautious glance at the king and his eyes flickered that wonderful, that _beautiful_ gold color. Snow rose up from the ground, the sunlight catching the crystals as they condensed into a floating ball, and it hurdled at her. The delicate snowball softly exploded over her, the flakes white against her dark skin. Gwen playfully glared at Merlin, who had his signature grin on his face for the first time in so long.

Out of nowhere, a missile crashed into the side of Merlin's head. He turned a shocked gaze onto the smirking king, who already was bouncing another ball in his hand.

Gwen stepped back from the playful fight, her work done.

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><p><strong>It's been a bit, but I've been working on a longer story. When I finish that, I'll start posting it. ...And I won't <em>beg<em> for reviews, but I'll ask nicely. They make my day! **


	9. Devotion

**Uther/Ygraine drabble.**

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><p>"She will be executed at dawn tomorrow. Build the pyre!" The witch began to sob at hearing her death sentence, and continued to weep even as the men dragged her away to the dungeons. The doors clanged shut as the last pair of knights walked through to carry out his orders, leaving the king alone in the room.<p>

He relaxed back into the throne- no, he leaned backwards. Kings never relax. There were always enemies and assassins around the corner, waiting for the smallest slip of awareness. And the art of devils, cursed magic was always threatening to invade the borders once again, even after he had cleared his kingdom of its black taint. The same dark art that had taken his queen, his wife from him.

This most recent sorceress was the first one in many months. There had once been a time when no patrol of knights would return without a report of a new druid encampment or peasants speaking of witch-lights floating in the woods at night. But the rumors trickled away, and there was no sign of any magic-user, their stained and ruined souls dripping crimson with the blood of the innocents they murdered as they called for his and Arthur's death.

He rose from the uncomfortable throne, and strode to the open window. The sun was hovering low in the evening sky, and the merchants and farmers were packing up their wares for the night. There was no screaming or houses combusting, nor anything exploding with the harsh force of magic. The peace outside confirmed, he tilted his head back to gaze into the colorful, cloudless sky; it had been her favorite time of day.

He had cleared his kingdom of the filth that was magic, and had paved the way for his son to lead the kingdom to glory. His mission was complete; he had avenged the death of his Ygraine and proved his devotion. He smiled, the once-familiar expression feeling strange on his face, and spoke to the heavens, the words coming out as a soft murmur.

"I hope that you're proud of me and what I've done, Ygraine."


	10. Remorse

**Dedicated to MadameMorganLeFay for completely making my day! **

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><p>The pain of the spear was enraging, but nothing more. I reared and felt my foot connect with something solid, knocking it over with the faint sound of clinking metal, nearly impossible to hear over the crackling of flames. I crouched down to see that I had thrown the prince backwards, and being a fragile human, he had fallen into the depths of unconsciousness.<p>

He was brave, Uther's son, but he would die, great destiny or not. Uther would pay for daring to trap and lock me under his castle for decades. He would pay for killing every other dragon and Dragonlord alike in his mad quest to eliminate magic. I felt the fire deep in my throat, and began to part my jaw to let it escape.

Footsteps from the side caught my attention, however, and I turned to face the young warlock, whose face held terror, anger, and grief. I had forgotten about him, Balinor's son.

The deep roar of the Dragonlords' gift emerged from him. The blind rage lessened as he spoke to me in the language I hadn't heard in so many years. I bowed down to the last Dragonlord, only made as a result of my actions and looked up as the warlock picked up the discarded spear.

"I am the last of my kind, Merlin. Whatever wrongs I have done, do not make me responsible for the death of my noble breed." He swung the weapon forward, as if to strike, and I flinched away. But the pain of a blow did not fall on me, and I looked at him once more to see the spear still grasped in his hand. I tilted my head in slight confusion at his actions.

"Go! Leave! If you ever attack Camelot again, I will kill you!" The boy dropped the spear. "I have shown you mercy! Now you must do the same to others!"

Destiny had not lied then. Emrys was indeed merciful. I responded, preparing to fly from the area. "Young warlock, what you have shown is what you will be. I will not forget your clemency. I'm sure our paths will cross again."

I rose up, even with the stabbing pain of the wound in my side. The young warlock had shown me mercy, but I did not feel remorse for causing Uther Pendragon's suffering. All I felt for the tyrant was burning hatred.


	11. Magnetic

**A/N: Set near the end of The Sword in the Stone pt. 2.**

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><p>The wound throbbed, the pain and blood loss beginning to cloud her mind. <em>Where is… must find...what?<em> The witch stumbled through the trees, her steps growing more and more unsteady until her knees gave way beneath her. She fell heavily on her side and the added pain of landing on the wound caused the blurring world to darken into nothing, and her eyes slipped closed.

Only faintly aware of her surroundings, she could feel her life fading away into the ground, her blood staining the side of her already ruined dress. Vaguely, she felt the little warmth that the sun had provided disappear, and a strange trilling sound echoed to her from far away.

A warm wind seemed to bolster her slipping consciousness and she opened her eyes to the sight of a tiny, pure white dragon.

The creature was enthralling, standing on its two rear legs and cooing. Morgana's gaze was pulled magnetically to the little dragon as it chirped and flew away, disappearing into the sky beyond the treetops.

Her thoughts focused on the creature, her clouded mind took a few seconds to comprehend the lack of pain from her injury. She pulled her hand away to look, only finding a slit in the blood-stained fabric. The wound had closed, leaving only a thin white scar on her side. _The dragon._

Her mind flitted to her recent defeat- the reason why she was lying in a forest instead of in soft sheets in the castle._ It must be powerful to heal a wound so quickly. What else could the creature do?_

Morgana carefully stood, her heart pounding and head spinning. Even with the failure of her last plan, Camelot's destruction might still be in her grasp.


	12. Prelude to Darkness

**Prompt: _Write about a positive experience Uther had with magic before Arthur was conceived. _**

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><p>Uther crashed to the ground, his sword knocked from his hand as the huge bandit loomed over him.<p>

His hand was scrabbling desperately for the blade as the bandit grinned, revealing yellow crooked teeth. The king closed his eyes in resignation, waiting for the burning pain of a fatal strike.

Uther's eyelids flew open in surprise as something large crashed into the ground next to him. The bandit was facing him, the mocking smile still etched on the dead man's face.

"Well, aren't you going to thank me?"

He turned his head to face Balinor. The dark-haired man had that infamous grin on his face, looking for all the world that he had just pulled off his latest prank back at the castle, rather than standing in the middle of a clearing strewn with dead bodies.

The Dragonlord held out a hand, pulling the king to his feet. The two friends grinned at each other.

A burst of light whistled past Uther's face, striking and instantly killing the approaching bandit creeping up behind the pair.

"What about thanking _me_?"

Both men stared at the High Priestess, who was standing off to the side with a smirk on her face.

"Nimueh-" Before Uther finished, shouts echoed to the trio. Farther down the field, another group of enemies were charging.

Uther picked up his forgotten sword and looked at his friends' ready faces, grinning internally at their loyalty. They would win this battle against the magic-hating rebels, just as they always had won before.

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><p><strong>Just a tad of irony at the end.<strong>


	13. Resurrection

**Well...it's been a while. This is a plot bunny that refused to leave me alone. Virtual sweets of your choice if you can even make sense of this.**

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><p>The world is black around him. Not a terrifying, cold darkness, but rather a comforting one, a place where time means nothing and he has not a care in the world.<p>

But as he watches, black fades into light blue. Streaks of white are smeared across the blue plain, moving to one side and shifting shape. Slowly, ever so slowly, he begins to recognize it as... sky. Yes. That's the modern word for it, in the language of strange sounds that he has never quite grasped for all his years of living. His voice still holds the slightest burr of an accent from long ago.

Musing on the oddities of language, his line of sight falls to the side, his sluggish gaze catching golden strands shimmering with light from the... The word dances on the tip of his tongue, and he knows it, but it hovers just out of reach- then he forgets immediately about the word, for the gold hair turns to reveal an achingly familiar face and the one clear spot in his old, old memories is _there_. After years and years and _countless_ years, his bright blue eyes shining with deep concern that shouldn't be there, for it was his own job to worry…

"Merlin?"

The man's questioning word stops his rushed thoughts. His mind goes blank, save a single word; a name.

_Arthur._

Once more he is plunged into darkness.


	14. Ethereal

**A/N:** Set a little while after Diamond of the Day part 2. Special thanks to Chibichiii and MadameMorganLeFay who let me bounce ideas off of them for this _ages_ ago. Only got around to writing this yesterday.

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><p>Hunith was tending to her small herb garden when the small creature landed softly on the back of her hand. It was an ethereal azure, shimmering and glowing visibly even in the midday sun. She lifted her head to stare wonderingly at the butterfly, unnaturally beautiful against her work-roughened hand.<p>

Seeming to know that her attention was now fixated on it, the creature fluttered its wings and took off to the skies, leaving her with a sharp pang of grief.

She shook her head at such thoughts- how could she feel longing for an insect that perched on her hand for a mere few seconds?

Her hands picked up her work once again and, lulled by the familiar motions of pulling weeds, her mind wandered to her worry for her son. His last few letters had been tense, his poorly concealed worry for Arthur nearly radiating from the page. However, she had not received a letter from him in many weeks, nor had Gaius written her to explain why.

"Hunith! Did you hear yet?" A loud voice, belonging to a neighbor, interrupted her once more and continued before she could respond, either by turning or by speaking.

"Camelot's King is dead, fallen in battle against the Saxons!"

Her mind whirling, trying to process the new information while blocking out the continuing excited jabbering, she then realized what was so familiar about the butterfly.

It was the same exact color as her son's eyes- and his magic.

The implications of this struck her, and her tears silently fell to water the dry earth. She wept, for the dead King, for the kindly Queen, now a widow, and for a grieving kingdom.

But she saved most of her tears for her son, who had now lost so much with this man's death.


	15. The Disir AU

**A thank you gift for the lovely caldera32 and the wonderful cover she made for this collection. AU to the Disir- What if Merlin was hit by the spear instead of Mordred?**

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><p>There was nothing he wouldn't do for Arthur.<p>

Perhaps that's why stepping into the path of the spear is easy, instinctive, as if the Disir themselves intended for it to happen.

He gasps, breath stolen by the weapon suddenly lodged in his chest, but in the heartbeat of silence, before the blood rushing in his head can drown them out, he can hear the shouts of the other men as they see what happens. The impact makes him stumble backwards and crash to the ground, his usual clumsiness nothing compared to _this._

As he falls, the air seems to catch him and hold him, as if the world holds its breath- until he impacts the cold, harsh stone.

The sudden pain is sharp and poisonous, unlike any other wound he has received. A jolt of pain shakes his body as his magic grapples with _something_, but the name eludes him because his world is nothing but agony as hands grab him and drag him away.

As they leave the cave the pain lessens, _barely_, to the point where his senses work again. He can feel grass soft against his back and hands holding his body, poking and prodding at the wound and sending waves of agony throughout.

He holds back a scream, but a soft whimper escapes his lips.

The hands stop. The sharp pain gives way to a dull ache, magic from the spear fighting against his. The enchantment invades his body and weights his limbs and stills his body, the world around him becoming less important.

He can feel others' arms picking him up, his body leaving the support of the ground, but he's fading. The cruel, tempting magic overcomes him completely and he gives into the darkness.


End file.
